Day four. I should be sleeping right now, considering how tired I am, but the world needs me to stay awake. The world needs me to be strong. Yeah, it needs me to write this blog you delusional fuck. Wait, what? Oh who cares . . . I’m so tired. This morning, my boss told me that I was clearly hung over and that he was jealous of the alleged fun I had the night prior. I started to tell him that I’m a loser and I stayed up 4 hours later than I had intended to, because I needed to write a mediocre blog for bragging rights in a contest that I made up for myself, but I stopped mid-sentence because I didn’t want to sound crazy. However, I think what I did say was, “Oh I was up late last night um . . . doing stuff, but not drinking. I’m not hung over, I was just . . . .doing other stuff.” Yeah, that probably didn’t come across much better than the truth. Ugh, but my brain isn’t working so well right now. I didn’t get any sleep this past weekend due to my car break in and I haven’t caught up on that missed sleep due to my job’s insatiable appetite and my idiotic blog challenge. Right now, I consider the formation of any comprehensible sentences to be my opus magnum. I’m setting the bar pretty low. So adjust your expectation likewise, or better yet, just stop reading. Ahhhh, who am I kidding? No one is reading this shit. Can I just say for a second, that I really appreciate your support no one? I hate you least of all. Give me a call some time.
Wow, Jennifer! You’re finally learning. Keep sleeping tight. . . . you fat idiot.
Jennifer: Zzzzzz *crying* zzzzzzzz.
Hmmm, so what do I hate tonight? I don’t know. I’m too tired to think. I blame sleeping Jennifer.
I Hate . . . . ?
Let’s see, what do I hate today? Let me look around the room for a second. Okay, there’s some Downy Wrinkle Release . . . I can’t hate that. That shit has saved me on multiple occasions. What else is there? An elephant lamp . . . an ipod USB cable . . .Whey Protein (Vanilla flavored, ew!). Ugh. This isn’t working. Hate is like breathing to me. This shouldn’t be so hard. Ugh, all I want to do is sleep, but I need to finish writing this. I hate being tired. GASP. There it is! I hate being tired. Have you read anything before this sentence right now that your currently reading? Isn’t it awful? Well don’t blame me. Blame tired. Tired ruins everything. Okay, now I need to make a few observations about being tired and about how obnoxious it is and then we’re all done here. Excellent. Oh, and I should probably add a picture somewhere too. Pictures are always a good idea.
Tired kills you when you try to drive. Tired makes you boring at parties. Tired hurts. Tired fired you’re hired, you liar sire. Do I need to go on? I don’t think so. Instead, I’ll subject you to one of tired’s many horrors. A poem. Being tired is responsible for this poem:
Who Is Jennifer?
By: Tired Derek
Who is Jennifer?
She enters on a whisper.
She exits on a lie.
She stands sideways on the threshold and doesn’t commit to entering or exiting . . . on a seagull.
People don’t know Jennifer.
I feel sorry for people.
Jennifer feels people for knowledge.
I feel knowledge of Jennifer is sorry.
Wise up America.
Jennifer was always behind the scenes.
She was there when Billy conquered his anorexia.
When Billy caught the fly ball in the bottom of the ninth.
When Billy touched Susie’s boob for the first time.
When Billy relapsed and became anorexic again.
She wasn’t there.
I was lying.
Jennifer couldn’t care less about you.
Also, you’re only 8 years old and a boy!
You shouldn’t be anorexic.
Anorexia is for teenage girls.
Learn your place.
You know what Billy?
I’m wasting my time on you.
I should be focusing more on Jennifer.
The poem is almost over and I didn’t get to talk anymore about Jennifer.
Thanks a lot Billy.
Anorexic boob touching freak.
I hate you Billy.
I’m sorry, I neglected you.
Maybe we can do this again sometime.
How does next Thursday work for you?
Great, I’ll pencil you in.
Hahah, alright. Until then.
Ugh, glad that’s over. I wonder if I have any Rice Krispie Treats.
Hmmm . . .no. No, I do not.
Alright, that poem reeked. Everything reeks to be honest, especially considering the fact that I’m going on day 3 without a shower. Yes yes, I’m disgusting. Whatever. I’m going to bed. Just like Jennifer.
Jennifer: Ehhh, I wasn’t really asleep. Aint I a stinker?
Must. Resist. Urge. To. Kill.